#diveronaau

[orionmassetti]

Date: April 24, 1945 Time: 7PM Location: Hotel Vittoria, second floor stairwell status: open 

“Warm SPAM soup.“ Orion had the bowl perched on his knee, precariously balanced as he alternated between spooning the soup into his mouth and taking swigs from the bottle of whiskey by his foot.

“Luxuries like this? It’s really wrapping up.” Orion tipped his head forward, long hair blocking his eyes a moment before he ran a hand through, combing the curls back.

“Shame. I'm good at killing.“

[orpheus-vault-blog]

date: 24 april 1945 time: 21:00 location: hotel vittoria, a little alcove outside the ballroom open

Smoke curled about his head as he sat and watched gleeful smiles pass by, face cast half in shadow, eyes alight like slow-burning coals. War made people superstitious, flighty, and folks had been whispering of late, whispering that they’d seen a demon about these parts, a strange, infernal thing come to dance upon their graves and laugh at their agony. With his head so shrouded in mist, like this, with the expression of cool detachment that painted his face, Orpheus could almost have fit the description.

More bodies rushed past, voices breathy with relieved laughter, and Orpheus let out another smoky breath, flicking ash onto the floor. These were good cigarettes, none of the cheap imitation that only wartime could produce, and he savoured the one clasped between his fingers, knowing that the rest of his stash was too far away from the hotel, knowing that because he had to be here today he couldn’t go and fetch it. Part of him wanted to leave, the part that didn’t care who won, who lost, as long as the eventual outcome was in his best interests. But another part, the part that had gone down in a blaze of glory over foreign skies, in the cockpit of a young man’s plane...

( It was for that part that he stayed, for the memory that he could never quite let go of, the voice at the back of his head belonging to a young man whom he knew would have enjoyed a celebration like this. )

A familiar face swam into view amidst the haze, and Orpheus canted his head to look at them. “So it’s ending, then.” He flicked more ash onto the floor, narrowed his eyes. “What’ll human beings do when they want to slaughter each other now?”

[odessavernon]

Date: April 24, 1945 Time: 8pm Location: Hotel Vittoria, main function room Status: Open

 You could almost taste the victory in the air. After years of struggle, after enduring losses and defeats and injustices, all was about to be right in the world. With each passing day, the Allies advanced closer to Berlin. And, closer to home, Italy was finally being restored to the country she had heard stories about - but never lived herself. She was looking forward to that day. She imagined it would taste like the treats the Americans called candy had handed out, booming accents abound.

Tonight, however, was a celebration in the style of the Italians. They had proved Verona to be their city - and had taken back ownership of it.

Cigarette in one hand, smuggled wine in a glass in her other, curls fluffed like a pin-up girl, Odessa surveyed the gathering, the dancers who drew each other close in jubilation, the friends who clapped each other on the back in celebration. But it was her third thought that made its way past her lips. “Everyone sure looks ritzy - “ Mischief flashing in her eyes, she turned to the person at her side  “- I could make a lot of money off them - although I suppose that isn’t in the spirit of it all.”

[ramona-aguilar-blog]

in un’altra vita — wwii au

la storia

Showered in all worldly riches humble times had to offer, fed with a silver spoon, wrapped in silk, satin and pearls from head to toe — Ramona had been fortunate enough to be born into one of the wealthiest families roaming Verona’s pre-war streets, sheltered and pampered, educated and secretly liberated. She could have been careless, a pretty little fool Gatsby’s Daisy wished for her daughter to be, but alert eyes had displayed a hunger for knowledge the moment they had first been doused in the light of day; knowledge and power, a sovereignty uncommon for a member of her gender at the very least. A dive from a blissful childhood to an unhappy marriage; the usual procedure for a young girl of her social standing, her husband a perfect match in financial and influential terms but differing wildly in terms of ideology as she was soon to find out. 

At first, all seemed well, as though she had been one of the few lucky ones who could tolerate their significant other, retorting his idiocy with halfhearted smiles and otherworldly patience while the fire burned within, well-concealed, waiting for its turn to consume them both. 

1942. Anything to keep the illusion alive, if only to prove to herself that she was capable of it. Foolish little Carmine, so easily convinced and flattered by her faux submission, oblivious to the prospect that one day she might strike, a venomous snake wrapped in white sheets imploring her to stain them crimson as she lie awake, dawn illuminating hardened features.

                                                            One day.

1943. And so it crumbles, brick by brick. Hostile uniforms covered by generously sized wool coats, only revealed in the artificial light of her salon. Drinks spilled in reckless abundance, laughter echoing from cold stone walls, her eyes roaming the room for comfort like a doe’s when facing the headlights. Endless hours of dread, horror concealed by a marble mask for a facial expression. “Eine wunderbare Frau haben Sie da, Cervi,” they purred, words dripping like venom from their serpent tongues as they patted his back, “Sie sind zu beneiden, mein Freund.” For all they could spot to envy was a devote wife, sitting pretty and silent, only replying brightly when they deemed it fit — a wonderful woman indeed, despite not fitting their type physically whatsoever. No one, least of all they, could know where her allowance and inheritance went little by little, what happened to the lost deliveries of weaponry sent to the enemy turned ally by the Cervi’s company, how her jewellery box became increasingly minimalistic the more money she required to rebel — silently and safely, until judgement day would come. 

1944. New Year’s Eve. No room for celebration in a city like Verona, the sound of fireworks too easily mistaken for that of destruction. A dastard man with cruel intentions, a woman who had long since established a double life for herself, one of which she was to turn her back on to greet 1945 with open arms. The clock struck twelve, one final deep breath suppressed by fabric’s fibres, surprising force found in such a petite body’s slender arms. “Schlaf fest, mein Liebster.” A dark night’s whisper, swallowed by a rushed exit wrapped in its cloak. 

1945. Come tomorrow, they’d find Carmine Cervi was no more. No sign of his wife. Never again.

il presente

Financially and beneath the radar, Ramona has been a supporter of the resistance movement since its first hour. Her brother, by now deceased, used to organise a by now realigned subbranch and hence enabled her to make a secret, easy entrance into the underground movement. Under his watch, she has also been trained to fight, her instructions initially intended as mere self defence but in her eyes preparation for a potential partaking in the war she would not shy away from should push come to shove — for a woman like her got used to fear too long ago to still pay attention to it.

Albeit old official documents expose her as Ramona Marlena Cervi, she uses her maiden name again since 1945. With Carmine Cervi, Ramona Cervi passed on all the same, all stains of her past wiped out with obsessive precision.

Since January 1945, she has been staying at Hotel Vittoria, her environment not at all akin her former standards of accommodation but, frankly, she is loving every minute of it, a bird freed from her golden cage. Her own house, in which she used to hide and care for rebels in need whenever her husband was out of town, has been bombed and destroyed shortly after his death, an attack she believes to have been aimed at her.

Thanks to her husband’s frequent negotiations and general meet-ups with the enemy, she has acquired conversational skills in German, her third language after English and, of course, Italian. 

The humble remains of her fortune she shares generously with the resistance movement, putting the rebellion’s needs above all else — for what could she really still waste her money on, should they not succeed?

(pls hmu for connections, i will love you forever and buy you soft ice cream ♡)

[catherinedaly-kiersten-archives]

AU 1: WWII

BIOGRAPHY

she was born and raised in Verona, coddled by wealth and sophistication. the Daly woman and her sisters had never known what it felt like to need much of anything, though they were not spoiled rotten.

prior to WWII, Catherine had recently given up her dancing lessons and had decided to pursue her dream of receiving higher education. she took a particular interest in medicine, though was unsure of exactly what she wanted to be. 

the multiple attacks on Verona left her feeling disheartened, and she soon lost the drive to attend class. Catherine volunteered a few times for the sake of the resistance, but never felt comfortable with what was asked of her if it dealt with any sort of fighting--but still, she complied fairly quickly.

she hesitated to follow in her sisters’ footsteps when they completely joined the resistance. however, after seeing what they endured, Cat couldn’t let them do it alone and she couldn’t bear to sit on the sidelines without trying to help in some way. thusly, she joined.

disenchanted by the idea of fighting, Catherine opted for a role more suited for her still-tender heart. she now serves as a nurse and does her best to develop friendships with her patients, as she believes it helps with the recovery process.

CONNECTIONS

Orion Massetti – reminder. she's known the Massetti man for years--before, and now during the war. she remembers who he once was (in fact, she misses that man), but realizes that the war has taken its toll on him. nonetheless, Catherine still respects and cares for the man he is now, even though they don’t always agree.

Grace and Regina Daly – sisters. the youngest of three, she's always happily grown in the shadow of Grace and Regina, as they’re both women she’s learned to admire and love. the war has done little to separate the three, and she’s grateful for it; when times get tough, she knows she can lean on them.

more pls???

[lucreciafalco-blog]

            ONLY THE DEAD SHALL SEE THE END OF WAR

The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting:

Little is known about the origins of one Lucrecia, not even her original last name. No record of her birth actually exists, nor are there any photos of her as a child. And little to nothing is known about her parents other than they were immigrants of France. She remembers very little of adolescence—only an instinct to survive that still lingers within her bones. Always striving for greatness, yet precariously intertwined with mischief. Most of her youth was spent on the streets, in the deep and dark corners of Paris because that is where the best company can be found. She’s always been drawn to nightlife and the excitement that flows throughout the city the moment the sun sets. 

Pick-pocketing for spare change to feed herself soon turned into petty theft once she met a gang of misfits to call her family. A few years on the streets left her quite skilled in the art of conning, but the moment a relentless and unforgiving winter hit the city, she felt trapped in a small cocoon of insecurities, worry and instability. But as soon as that horrid season passed, she emerged a beautiful incandescent butterfly, wings flapping effortlessly into the spring air. She shed the dirt and grime of the long winter along with her past self and found her beauty could easily replace her slender fingers and quick feet as a source of income. 

It wasn’t hard to leave behind that life, forgetting the names of her so-called family as quickly as she had learned them, but still mischief followed her wherever she went. Her first husband, a kind and gentle and rich man who turned ugly and volatile the moment liquor touched the tip of his tongue. The marriage had had all the appeal of a brand new life, and Lucrecia’s expectations had been at their highest, but only left her disappointed and bruised. It hadn’t taken her long to find a nice young man to seduce. A twenty-something kid with a desire to please any woman who gave him the slightest bit of affection, and in less than a month her husband had mysteriously dropped dead and his widow was nowhere to be found. 

She’d packed one bag, only the essentials (and her late husbands money, of course) and fled France just before war was declared, landing in Verona, Italy to make a new life. She was older, wiser, more experienced and it didn’t take her long to claw her way into the arms of another man, but he was the farthest from what she’d expected. A warmonger and a Rebel to say the least, with big dreams and even bigger ideals. He was the first man to treat her as his equal and to encourage her to embrace her gifts. In fact, he was the first man to treat her beauty as a gift instead of a prize for him to claim and for that she’ll be forever grateful. He showed her the ins and outs of the Spy Life and trained her to be the very best . (Someone give me this connection w/ lots of angst pls wink wonk.)

To know your enemy, you must become your enemy:

Eventually, she is given a mission to infiltrate the Germans by way of marriage to an officer, which is fairly easy because there’s no record of her in France or Italy. Arranged through Intel from her handlers, they meet. She makes him believe its love at first sight and it isn’t long until they’re married just after the start of the war. This leaves her around but closed off from the rebels for most of it, even though her husband was still stationed in Verona. But because of the obsession he’d developed for his wife, it was easy to pry out useful information. But being left along for too long left Lucrecia bored and with boredom came exploration. 

It wasn’t long until she began an illicit affair and while most would consider something so flippant and extramarital a mistake, for Lucrecia it was a blessing because when things got tough or too dangerous for her to handle on her own, Faron—a man she met by mere chance, but was wholly enamored with at first sight—was there to help and to hold. But all (good) things must come to an end. As soon as Italy’s allegiance swayed, so had her husband’s who had been growing suspicious of all her time away from home as of late. An affair? With a supposed Italian rebel, or worse a Russian? Surely, she would be tortured for her crimes against Axis, if not killed.

It was her fellow colleague and friend who would save her, who would make sure she got out unharmed and safely returned to Verona. Calina—a woman she respects more than anyone and would lay her life on the line for—was her savior in every sense of the word and she owes her life to the woman. 

She’s now been back in Verona for a few months and resumed her allegiance with the rebels, fighting daily for a cause she believes in. She’ll be damned if her beloved city falls.

I’ll probs add more to this as I plot with people and add more connections but this is the gist??

[ofgoneril-blog]

Date: April 25th, 1945 Time: 1am Location: The Street outside Hotel Vittoria Status: Closed @catherinedaly 

The cinderella’s of the ball had long skipped out and tucked themselves up between scratchy sheets, dreaming of all the tomorrows they were yet to have with prince charming. One by one, the crowd had begun to thin out, the weakest rubbing their feet, the drunkest stumbling on the streets, caring little for how much noise they made. Liberation was the word on everyone’s lips. But, sitting on a curb, smoke curling into the air, Grace could only reflect on how dull it would all be. At the sound of footsteps at her side, a biting comment was ready on her tongue - about how a handsy gentleman could take his business elsewhere or she wasn’t looking to make friends with the docile flower wisp. Such sentiments was quickly swallowed when her eyes sparked in recognition. Catherine. Instead, her lips twisted into something that might have been considered a smile. “Don’t tell me you’re turning in for the night already. You must have inherited some of my stamina. Buckle up or I shall pretend I do not know you.”

[nikolaiborisov-blog]

WWII AU: Nikolai Borisov

History

Had a tendency to stick around the wrong crowds. At a young age, that meant children who liked to stay out late in Moscow, borrow things they never intended to return, and get kicked out of establishments for being too loud. At an older age, that meant men and women that forced him to think about a political environment he normally didn’t pay attention to.

Neutrality always was a hard thing to keep, something he learned about the same time Romania did. While his current home made friends with Germany, Nikolai packed his bags and left, leaving only a note for his parents, one he instructed them to burn after reading. The less they knew about where he went, the better. He hasn’t heard from them in years.

Hides his accent as best as he can, though it slips out when he really gets to talking, which is a lot. On a couple of occasions it’s gotten him into trouble, people mistaking him as an Axis ally. Nothing a small little car bomb couldn’t get him out of, allowing him to quickly be on his way.

It was when he showed someone how to make a fiery concoction one night to save their lives that they suggested he lend his knowledge of flames and fireballs to the war, to finally show where he stood. (Was surprised to find the Finns were not only using his concoction against Soviets, but that they had mockingly named it after fucking Vyacheslav Molotov because of his “bread baskets.” Still thinks it should be called the Borisov cocktail. Molotov didn’t do shit.)

He thought on the suggestion of joining the Allies and kept running until he reached Piombino, where he chose to be a civilian volunteer and help try to keep German forces out in September of 1943. It wasn’t long after they’d fled that he was noticed for some of his craftier methods in the fight, and soon he was tossing grenades and setting up land mines for unsuspecting soldiers.

Has been a nomad for so long that his social skills still aren’t always up to par.

He’s also beginning to feel like it’s time for him to move on again, to get out and see where else he can not have roots.

Connections

Theodora - rescued him from a fire of his gone wrong. He was unable to get away from the explosion in time, but thankfully, they were there to pull him out when he couldn’t run. He hasn’t forgotten the courageous deed, and knows he owes them a debt.

COME PLOT WITH ME, FIENDS

[valentina-rising]

AU Week: WW II (ง •̀_•́)ง

History:

grew up with her parents and brother in Verona, married a local business owner at the age of 21 after numerous pushes towards it, did so to please her family. He was a drunk, and easy enough to ignore if she tried.

parents ran a small inn that she worked at even after marriage; it was destroyed in the early bombings, in which they both along with her husband died in the chaos.

brother went off to fight not long after, and she hasn't been able to contact him in months. Assumed dead by most, but she remains defiant.

Joined with the rebellion to do what she could in hopes of finding her brother. Often worked helping bring food and bandages or whatever else was needed, smuggling in small contraband in the packages she held.

figured out quickly she's good with a gun and eventually wanted to  fight as well. Hopes it will mean she can learn the truth of her brother or at least where he was killed.

the war frightens her in the fact she cannot see it’s end with her family at her side. She doesn’t fear dying, the loss of her family making it all too real. Just simply refuses to remain a sitting duck to be picked off.

Very stubborn, but naive in ways she cant see. Hopeful but cautious. Smokes to keep nerves at bay, doesn’t drink often.

connections: 

I should go make some huh

[orionmassetti]

WWII AU week ; bio

shipping magnate prior to WW II. traded mostly between Africa and Europe. his fleet is currently under forced loan to the Americans for the war, which means he’s making little to no profit.

lost his wife and young daughter during one of the air raids. it was an arranged marriage, but they were amicable. the loss of his daughter hit him especially hard (refuses to associate with children). she was only injured during the bombing, but was lost due to lack medical supplies. it reinforced the futility of money when it mattered, as Orion had the funds to pay for them.

is hardly ever sober. chain smokes notoriously.

will sell you to the Germans for one corn chip. while currently working with the rebels he has no loyalty to them. if offered the right price, will barter information to the Germans if he knows he can get away with it. just trying to ride the war out.

after a head injury (has a visible scar on his forehead), hands notoriously shake during inopportune moments. so his favored weapon is a shotgun (little need to aim) and a KA-BAR he’d traded from a US Sailor.

connections.

roman: indebted to after roman saves his life. follows roman around like a smoking shadow. never right behind, just on the peripheral, looking for the opportunity to cancel the debt. begrudgingly helps care for emma, one of roman’s orphans.

calina: ex-wife. presumed dead.

cat: a family friend from before the war. their interactions are tinged by a happier past and bitter present. she knows who he was, better than anyone, and is aware of how he’s twisted because of the war.

orpheus: friend. when orpheus needs assistance with moving or acquiring illegal goods, orion is the one he calls on.

theo: comrade/friend. orion met them during the war, when they were thrown together and forced to work in tandem in order to survive. he dragged them with him to the resistance.

[orpheus-vault-blog]

--- au: seconda guerra mondiale

BIOGRAFIA

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.”

Born in Verona, in a dirty little house on a dirty little street in one of those parts of town where sunlight can’t quite penetrate the pervasive squalor. His parents were petty thieves, petty and unremarkable. Once their son was old enough to walk, they taught him how to steal. Despite the things they had stolen, they were poor people, poor and ordinary. From a young age, Orpheus found them disappointing.

Armed with the tricks his parents had taught him, a little ladro flourished in the less savoury districts of Verona. But the efforts of his parents were not enough. They stole like it was an obligation rather than a calling, always with that same put-upon look that belied a yearning for better things, for a life lived outside the shadows. Orpheus saw their fervent attempts to purify their souls and turned his nose up. Already he knew that they were too pedestrian for him, that he had outgrown them in so many ways. When he was six he stole a diamond necklace from a jewellery shop, a bigger score than his parents had pulled off in years. He sat in an alleyway with it for a few hours, just looking at the way light danced within the crystalline stone, then gave it to the homeless woman who lived at the end of his street, because she would always feed him a pastry when she had one to spare, and he thought that if he presented her with a gift she might give him more.

His brother was one of the few lights in his life. From the moment Orpheus saw little Hermes, he knew that this would be his one tether to the trappings of ordinary people’s lives, his one weakness, a single chink in the already impervious coat of armour that he’d forged for himself. The nine years between them didn’t seem to matter, not when Orpheus had donned the mantle of protector and had acquired the purest, most kind-hearted acolyte.

As he grew, so did the reach of his shadow, so did the black desires that pulsed in the space where a heart should have been. He stole more, fought more, made a name for himself as the dark king beneath the streets, making use of people’s poverty and their faith to galvanise an army of devotees. His parents could do little but watch as their son surpassed them, and Orpheus made sure to remind them at every turn that he had done what they never could. His empire grew vast and dark, drawing in the most macabre cast of players. And Orpheus sat at the top of his heap of bones and knew that this was what he was born to do.

When war broke, Hermes was first in line to enlist, naturally siding with the Allies over the darkness that was pouring from Germany like water. Orpheus laughed and laughed at this blind altruism, but pulled some strings and got his brother a place within the ranks of the resistance. When war came knocking on his door, however, he turned his head away, lip curled into a sneer, refusing outright to throw himself in the path of bullets for the benefit of so-called leaders who didn’t give a damn about the droves of bodies they were sending to the slaughter. He stayed in Verona, kept his hold on the city’s underbelly as tight as it had been, and allowed the chaos of war to drop opportunity into his lap. The darkness of war turned into business, and Orpheus thought that he could wait out the rest of the conflict sat comfortably in Verona, watching men massacre each other from afar and feeling nothing for either side.

But fate has a funny way of messing up even the best-laid plans, and Orpheus’ conscientious objecting would cost him dearly. His parents died early in the war, killed by a mortar bomb as they were attempting to flee the country (or something to that effect - Orpheus hadn’t been interested in the specifics). He didn’t think of them again after that, but he thought of his brother a lot. And that was to be his punishment.

The telegram arrived early and unceremoniously one morning, the death notice printed in clipped and unemotional Italian. Two measly little sentences to summarise the greatest life that Orpheus had ever known. It didn’t seem enough. It would never be enough. He cried that day, cried and cried until it felt like he’d cried all the tears out of him, and when he was done crying, he decided to act. Joining the Resistance seemed like the logical thing to do, the best way to honour his brother’s memory, and so he finally chose a side, drifting over to the rebels like a spectre, ready to do his part if need be. The outcome of the war was still of little personal consequence to him, but for his brother’s sake Orpheus thought he might as well try and tip the scales towards the side of the light, for once.

FATTI

Has done many different kinds of business during the war, very few of them legal. No one but him quite knows the reach of his influence.

His prime source of income is smuggling - can get you anything you need, anything you could ever dream of, but for a price. Always.

Also moonlights as a gun/knife-for-hire, someone who can take care of problems that people are too afraid or too ashamed to deal with themselves.

Enjoys killing, and makes no secret of this. His preferred weapons are knives (they feel so much more personal, he says), but he’s happy to use a gun if need be, or simply to swing his fists.

Precisely what he does for the resistance, no one really knows. But safe to say that he’s always there, present somewhere on the fringes, ready to materialise out of the shadows like a demon of some kind.

Runs a series of underground bars throughout the city, which are generally the haunt of Verona’s criminal elements but which he’s offered up to the resistance as points of refuge.

Never, ever talks about his past. Is quite content to let people think that he grew out of the ground like a poisonous plant, or simply came into being like some sort of infernal creature. If anyone asks why someone so obviously not virtuous joined the side of the Allies, he just shrugs and says that he thought it’d be fun to try killing some Germans.

War hasn’t changed him, not in the way that it’s changed others. He had a dark soul and no heart before, and he’s just as heartless now. But the loss of the only person he ever truly loved has twisted that heartlessness, sharpened it into unfettered cruelty. Mentioning anything to do with Hermes, in any way (no matter how roundabout) is akin to stepping on a minefield. Beware.

CONNESSIONI

TBA.

[odessavernon]

WW2: Biography

From puppet to master:

born and raised to a typical, fairly affluent, family in verona, odessa has always called this city home - and knows, as long as she still stands, she always will. her upbringing was pretty characteristic for a girl of the time - with her parents keen to enforce “domestic feminine” values upon their daughter. determined to make her into a pretty little doll, demure and quiet, her father saw her as a little more than a product to be displayed, owned and one day - sold off to a waiting husband

as soon as she was old enough to recognise the situation that was unfolding, odessa formed opinions of her own - which ran in contrary to the expectations of her parents.initially approaching her parents and gently telling them about her dreams and ambitions out of the domestic sphere, odessa came up against a brick wall - with her parents refusing to consider any view but their own, reluctant to allow their daughter to have any semblance of freedom.

the turning point came when odessa was eighteen - and her father refused permission for her to attend university. from then on out, odessa stopped asking for permission - and simply did as she wished.

without the money to attend university, limited opportunities for women and facing the prospect of being married off, odessa did the only thing she could think of - she turned to the streets and a life of small-time crime. 

although she began small, picking a pocket here or there, her operations quickly grew as her skill-set did. soon, she was acting as a fully-fledged thief, light-fingered as she darted into people’s homes at night, silver-tongued as she distracted people long enough to lift the watch from their wrist. liberated by her lifestyle, odessa has never considered going back.

all of this changed the moment italy went to war - and odessa began to open her eyes to the world outside of her front door, beginning to confront the political issues that would come to shape all of their lives. disillusioned, disenchanted and downright offended by the attitudes and actions of the axis powers - including their own government - she searched for a way - any way - to oppose them. her opportunity came in 1944, the moment someone from the resistance approached her, trying to recruit her. aware of her very specific skill-set, they argued that the resistance needed her. odessa immediately agreed.

since then, odessa has been a fully-fledged  partisan within the resistance, lending her skills as and when they are needed. she’s most often utilized as a thief, sent behind enemy lines as dusk falls. her tasks have ranged widely, from pick-pocketing food and clothing to lifting intelligence documents on troop movements and strategy positions. when she isn’t acting as a thief on the behalf of the resistance, she’s fighting on the streets. joining the resistance has taught her to be handy with a gun - and she intends to use her skills.

most recently, odessa received news from her mother (who she hadn’t spoken to since 1940) that their father had been killed by axis soldiers, in a seemingly random attack. since then, odessa has had a renewed passion to stamp out this evil for once and all, determined to avenge the death of her father. they might have disagreed on everything - and he might not have approved of the way she lived her life, but because of those soldiers, they will never have a chance to make things right.

The ties that bind:

Lawrence: brother. Although initially close in the early days of their childhood, time has seen the pair drift apart. now, the most appropriate word to describe them is estranged. despite odessa’s issues with her family, in the wake of their father’s death she truly wants to make things right between the pair - and to find a way to reconnect once more. that might not be easy - but with both of them on the side of the resistance, there is at least a starting point.

i need more connections asap why am i so bad at this you guys have ur shit together

i would definitely like to see someone who odessa maybe once stole from?? whether it be from their business/home. i just think it would be hilarious to have someone being like: “so when you giving back my grans diamond ring huh??”

give odessa a secret girlfriend. it gotta be gay.

maybe like some people she met after she first moved out and began operating on the streets? someone older who perhaps took her under their wing and made sure she was eating and stuff

[ramona-aguilar-blog]

d a t e : april 24th 1945 t i m e : 9:24 PM l o c a t i o n : hotel vittoria, first floor s t a t u s : open

The air was laced with victory and uncertainty alike, the latter heavily overweighing within her the closer the clock’s hands edged on midnight. They may have won the war, or were about to, but were there any guarantees for what the future would hold in a city of ruins? She, for one, had nothing to come back to — not that she would have wanted it any other way as long as returning to her home had meant returning to her husband but, alas...

Distraction. That she had been in dire need of, standing in a corner of the generously sized hall, hunched over a table stocked with the few excuses for alcoholic beverages they had still managed to harbour, working furiously on a mixture she was never quite satisfied with. Tense features softened, Glenn Miller reaching alert eardrums, eyes briefly closing as she hummed along for a beat. One final taste test before Ramona turned around, a weary smile on lips so chapped the few splatters of lipstick she had clung onto had thoroughly failed to conceal them.

“Try this for me?” Eyes jumping from the addressed to the glass in her hand and back. “With a bit of imagination, it should actually taste like a Gin Rickey.”

[ofgoneril-blog]

WW2 bio

passato :

grace entered the world the way she intended to live, kicking, screaming and seizing as much attention as she could. with two attentive parents, showering their daughter with love, affection and a high standard of living, she received just that.

whilst other families might have resented having three daughters (especially with a family company to consider), the daly parents felt blessed to have their children - each more beautiful than the last (grace, of course, would contest this). given any and all equal opportunities, the girls were provided with the highest standard of education and encouraged to make their own mark on the world. naturally, grace took this to heart, refusing to let her gender hold her back and became determined to be the best and the boldest at anything and everything. 

still kind of a bitch tbh - but like a bitch with a heart for a select few

to this day, she’s been engaged three times - and has broken it off before she can get down the aisle, feeling that no one is an equal match for her.

she joined the resistance in its early stages, in 1943. after witnessing a fight between an Italian soldier and a man who would turn out to be not just a  resistance fighter, but one of its founders, grace decided to join up. as she watched the rebel stand victorious over his opponent, knuckles bruised and palms coated in blood, she felt a sirens call towards the violence. it was an inexplicable need. she had to throw herself into the center of it all. she had to not just be a part of it, but be the one leading the charge.

direct in her approach to the man, she was initially laughed away - leave the fighting to the men, little girl. so, she kicked him in the balls. then he listened.

since then, her life has been dedicated to the resistance - and she hasn’t looked back. she even recruited her sisters to the cause.

presente:

since she joined the resistance movement when it was in its fledgling stages, grace has managed to rise quite far up the ranks and now leads brigades. whilst she occupies herself mainly with strategy and planning, she’s known for being active in the field - almost greedy in the way she steals lives.

yeah, surprise, she still loves murder.

she has a high price on her head and is wanted by the germans/ Italian Fascist puppet regime of the Italian Social Republic. but that doesn’t stop her living her life...i mean...she’s grace daly.

connessioni:

Regina and Catherine Daly: sisters. she might not say it much, but grace loves her sisters an incredible amount and abides by the ancient motto - blood is thicker than water. whilst circumstances could have driven them apart, war has brought the trio together, allowing them to become closer. no doubt, the fact all three of them are resistance fighters helps. grace does her best to protect them both - scaring away anyone who seeks t question catherine’s status and making sure regina is on the front line, at the heart of the action, where she  belongs. they even go on killing sprees together.

i need more connections

like an ex-fiance (or two).

and friends/partners/comrades - maybe someone who is pretty high up like she is?

but she gotta have an enemy too. and they have to be forced to do the jitterbug together because the image of that makes me laugh.

maybe even someone she saved?? 

or someone she recruited/mentored?

idk man